Priority Male
by Joanna Grant
Summary: Scott visits Magneto in prison and runs into Yuriko Oyama aka Lady Deathstryke.


Title: Priority Male

Author: Karen

Disclaimer: Scott Summers is owned by Marvel and James Marsden is owned by Lisa Linde.

Verse: X2

Pairing: Scott and Yuriko

Summary: Scott visits Magneto in prison and runs into Yuriko Oyama aka Lady Deathstryke.

Author's Notes: As this is a 'teaser' fic, it doesn't have a definitive ending.

This story, which was written in September 2002, is based on the X2 teaser trailer. It isn't a plot spoiler because the events I've portrayed didn't actually happen - although I do think James Marsden and Kelly Hu would be hot together. And from the comments Kelly made during promotion of X2 and in the behind-the-scenes footage, it was obvious that she had a major crush on Marsden. As her character didn't get to 'have her way with him' in the film, I think I've rectified that in this fic.

Special thanks to: The usual suspects for the preview and help – your suggestions were right on target, as always.

~ Priority Male ~

Scott made the two hour journey to the maximum-security facility that housed Magneto's 'hamster cage' to get some answers that Charles' weekly visits simply weren't producing. It was Scott's belief that despite the friendly chess matches, Erik would never take Charles into his confidence to the degree they needed and time was not favorably on their side. Mystique was still disguised as Senator Kelly and trying to convince people that _he'd _had an epiphany, that all of his previous posturing about mutants had been a horrible error in judgment based on incomplete information. A few people doubted the Senator's newfound sincerity and the rank of disbelievers was steadily growing larger. Erik's plan to effect change from inside the enemy's camp was rapidly disintegrating and the X-Men realized he'd soon change tactics and resort to a new scheme – one that likely favored sheer force over the far less successful subtle persuasive approach. He was definitely planning something, hints of which had been creeping along the mutant community's gossip grapevine for some time now. The time for gentle questioning had long since passed, and Scott was there to try and get some definitive answers.

Scott filled out the seemingly endless log of paperwork while silently damning the government and their obsessive need to have everything in triplicate. He'd finished what he hoped was the last of it and was just putting the pen down when a band of dark gray hard plastic was snapped onto his wrist. It looked like the type of electronic device that prisoners who were being monitored continually were compelled to wear around their ankles.

"Suppression cuff." The clerk informed him nonchalantly, and then needlessly added, "Can't have you muties running around the place with your powers intact now, can we?"

A lack of powers wouldn't be much of a deterrent for Erik's cohorts when they were ready to have their leader rejoin them. Scott found little comfort in the fact they'd have to resort to blasting him out the old-fashioned way. Didn't these people understand the concept of 'where there's a will, there's a way'?

Not wanting the specially designed plastic visor messed with while he was in with Erik, Scott opted to keep it on despite the suppression cuff and his desire to once again see the world in colors so long denied him – not that the stark whiteness in the immediate area or the clear plastic construction of Erik's cell would offer him much to look at anyway.

He was then ushered into another section of the prison where he was subjected to a body scan to make certain that he didn't have any metal on him. As expected, he came up clean – even the zipper on his leather pants had been formed out of plastic. A female guard old enough to be his mother, who apparently took great pride in her thoroughness, then frisked him.

"Having fun, Arleen?" A guard, with a nametag that read 'Laurio', asked the woman.

"You have fun your way, and I'll have it mine," she replied as her hands lingered on Scott's chest.

"Finding anything dangerous?" Laurio inquired as he watched Arleen's hands slowly move down Scott's body.

"I think this oughta be registered as a weapon," Arleen said with a lascivious grin as she skimmed her fingers over Scott's crotch.

Scott stood perfectly still, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of any kind of response.

"Okay, the cutie pie's clean," she said finally, reluctant to be done groping him.

Scott felt like he needed a shower.

After all the hoops he'd jumped through it turned out to be a colossal waste of time as Erik steadfastly refused to answer any of his point-blank questions. Not that he'd really expected Magneto to cave, but as one of Charles' protégés Scott was always the eternal optimist. He'd noticed the bruises on the older man and even his offer to see what could be done about the obvious mistreatment had failed to illicit any cooperation.

As he stepped out of the clear tunnel that separated Erik's cell from the rest of the building he was relieved to find Laurio was the only guard still on duty. At least he wouldn't have to submit to an exit frisking by an overzealous Arleen. Concerned about Erik, he turned to look at him one final time, which sufficiently distracted him enough that he didn't register the other door sliding open. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a weapon being cocked that he snapped around to see a dark-haired woman with a sizeable plastic gun aimed directly at him. His mouth dropped open in involuntary horror.

"Cyclops I presume?"

"Who wants to know?" Scott responded as he regained his composure.

"That's not important," she said, the gun still aimed at his head.

Scott glanced over at Laurio who'd obviously had his palm well-greased, as he made no attempt to help.

"Will that thing still work after we leave the prison grounds?" the woman asked Laurio as she indicated the suppression cuff on Scott's wrist.

Laurio handed her a small key.

"It'll work until it's removed," he replied as he moved out of Scott's line of vision.

"Good, I don't want to mix too many drugs," the woman said.

_Mix too many drugs? What the hell is she talking about?_

It was at that precise moment Scott felt a sharp sting in the back of his neck and realized Laurio had just stabbed him with a hypodermic. He immediately started to feel the effects of whatever drug had been in the syringe as he staggered briefly before his legs gave out from under him and he crumbled to the floor. The woman stepped over to Scott's prone form and smiled down at him.

"Nighty, night," she said before the blackness claimed him.

Scott started to slowly emerge from the drug-induced haze. He felt light-headed and nauseous. Instinctively he reached up to check his visor, discovered it was gone, and then remembered the suppression cuff. As a precaution, he kept his eyes tightly closed as his fingers felt for the device. Discovering it was still locked in place, he felt it was probably safe enough to open his eyes. Scott thought if Laurio had been mistaken about the cuff's ability to function away from the prison, wherever he was being held was about to get a skylight the hard way. He blinked and tried to focus, but everything was still too blurry. A distorted shape to his left moved a little closer.

"Here, drink this – it'll help," a female voice told him.

Scott felt a glass pressed to his lips and he sipped at the liquid, but his taste buds refused to register any flavor. Whatever it was felt cool sliding down his parched throat and he drained the glass.

Now slightly more cognizant of his surrounding, Scott discovered that he was lying on a hospital-style bed – naked, which didn't particularly surprise him. First rule of interrogation – strip the person of their clothes and their dignity soon followed. Whoever had decided to make him an unwilling 'guest' had done their Bad Guys 101 homework.

The same woman who'd held the gun on him at the prison turned out to be the one standing to his left and a man who was heavily-muscled, in a bouncer at a strip club sort of way, stood to his right.

"I don't suppose you're gonna cooperate and give me the information I want without a fight?" the woman asked.

"How'd you guess?" Scott retorted.

"The end results are gonna be the same, so why do it the hard way?"

"Gotta make you earn your money, don't I?"

She let out a short barking laugh and said, "It's you I'm gonna punch, not a clock."

_Great, I get snatched by the Princess of Pain._

"Don't look so panic stricken, I won't mess up that pretty face unless the sodium pentathol doesn't work," she told him as she stroked his cheek with one hand and brought a syringe into view with the other.

"Gee, I just took a nap," Scott said in a mock whine.

"If you cooperate and answer my questions, then I won't have to use chemical persuasion," she offered.

"Yes, I believe you've got a decent shot at that Miss America title, but I don't think the other girls will vote you Miss Congeniality."

"Trying to be a comedian, huh? Well take my advice and keep your day job," she replied as she tapped the syringe and released any air pockets by squeezing out a trace amount of the ominous-looking liquid.

"This is fun, but could we get to the roughing me up part already, 'cause I'd like to be released in time for dinner – it's meatloaf night."

The bouncer-guy held Scott down as the woman caressingly ran her hand over his bicep, before she thumped the vein in the crease where his arm bent at the elbow, then pushed the needle in and depressed the plunger. The combination of the bite from the needle and the sting of the drug entering his system made Scott grit his teeth.

"Don't fight the drug or this will take twice as long as necessary," she told him as she removed the needle.

She just stood there watching him – looking for an indication that the drug was taking effect. Scott held her gaze, his jaw firmly clenched – refusing to let her see she was intimidating him in any way. She appreciated his futile effort and smiled at him knowingly.

_Bitch._

Scott's attempts to stave off the effects of the drug were useless and he felt his body surrender the fight. Obviously the woman had prior experience with this particular interrogation method because she seemed to know the precise moment he was ready to tell her everything she wanted to know. Despite his best effort to resist, the potent pharmaceutical flowing through his system compelled him to divulge the security codes for everything from the front gates to Cerebro itself. He felt weak and not just physically. Like he'd let down his mentor, even though he knew Charles would not lay blame at his feet for this. No, that would be his job.

Scott was exhausted and closed his eyes.

He thought only a few moments had passed, but when he opened his eyes again he found he was no longer lying on the hospital-style bed, but on a regular bed instead. A bed with silk sheets. Apart from the suppression cuff still clamped on his wrist he was mercifully restraint-free. Sweeping the mocha-colored silk sheet aside he discovered that he was also still clothes-free. He sat up and looked around, noting the room was tastefully decorated as if it were ready to be featured in a photo spread for Cosmopolitan Home magazine. The color scheme throughout the large room was varying shades of cream, which wasn't terribly exciting for his newfound freedom from viewing things through ruby quartz. He stood up, modestly wrapped the sheet around him and pointlessly walked over to the door, not at all surprised to find it locked from the outside. A quick survey of the room gave him no clue about the usual occupant as there were no personal effects in sight, but somehow he knew he was still in the clutches of the attractive but sadistic bitch who'd forced him to betray his friends, and that this was her room. Opening up the closet door he found that he'd been right as saw the feminine and obviously expensive clothes. Next he went into the bathroom where at last he found more personal items on the counter and in the drawers. Picking up a green bottle of perfume he examined the label and was amused by the highly appropriate name ~ 'Poison'.

Scott then went over to the toilet and relieved his bladder. He debated missing the bowl and giving the bitch something to clean up. He'd just flushed when he heard the distinct sound of the lock on the outer door. Not holding out any hopes that it was the other X-Men arriving to rescue him, he opted not to go out and greet whoever it was and decided instead to open the medicine cabinet in search of a toothbrush. It was as he was brushing his teeth that he finally took the time to look in the mirror and examine the deep blue color of his eyes – something he'd given up hope of ever seeing again. He suddenly felt a pang of sadness as he'd always hoped to share such a pivotal moment with Jean.

"Scott?" the now familiar voice called out.

Unless he'd somehow figured out a way to suspend himself from the ceiling or phase through a wall, it should've been pretty obvious to her exactly where he was if he wasn't within plain sight.

Scott looked up with a mouthful of toothpaste foam as she walked into the bathroom.

Spitting it out he said, "What no 'Hi, honey, I'm home'?"

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a tone that held no hint of any genuine concern.

"Like someone just forcibly extracted information from me," he replied as he dried his mouth on one of her fancy towels, "So, how was your day? Kill anyone?"

"No. But the day's not over yet," she said as she leaned against the counter.

Scott noticed that her dark brown hair was no longer pulled back in a severe ponytail, but hanging loose almost down to her waist. She was dressed in a sleeveless silk dress that was the same shade as the sheet currently wrapped around his waist – must be her favorite color he thought. He also noticed the plunging neckline and prominent cleavage. Real, they were definitely real and his body was involuntarily beginning to respond to her overt sexuality.

"Hot date?"

"My boss told me to get rid of you," she told him as she slid between him and the sink, "and I don't think he meant sending you on a Caribbean cruise."

She ran her hands over the firm muscles of his bare chest and sighed appreciatively. Her closeness and the touching weren't helping him in his battle to control his body's natural reaction.

"I get it," Scott said knowingly, "If I'm _nice _to you, then you'll help me escape – is that it?"

She looked up at him and smiled wickedly, "No, I'm still gonna kill you after we fuck."

"Then what the hell's in it for me?"

"I thought all men wanted to die in bed after a night of wild sex?" she laughed.

"That depends on who they're having sex with," Scott replied cuttingly.

"Honey, you can't stand there with that hard-on and tell me you don't want me under you."

"He's always been an individual thinker."

"Games are over, Scott," she said as she yanked the sheet away and dropped to her knees.

Scott went to step back away from her, but she immediately had him in her mouth and he suddenly lost the ability to think coherently. Damn she was good – even more skilled at this than she was at information extraction. In fact, if she'd done this she wouldn't have had to use sodium pentathol – he would've told her anything she wanted to know as she was sucking him off. He threaded his fingers through the silken strands of her hair and dropped his head back as she expertly worked on him. She alternated between a gentle sucking action around the head and long slides of her tongue up and down his swollen shaft until, with a shudder and then a groan; he spilled himself down her throat.

He staggered backward slightly as she stood up and reached behind her to unzip the dress. A puddle of silk pooled at her feet and as she stepped out of it Scott saw that she hadn't bothered with a bra and was now standing before him in just a white lace thong. He'd been right, they were real and very nice to boot. The woman standing before him ~ one scrap of fabric away from being naked ~ was aiming for something stimulating, and Scott doubted it was conversation. His lower half agreed and his cock quickly grew hard again.

"Now fuck me," she ordered.

Despite his body's instinctual reaction, every moral fiber in Scott was screaming for him to remain faithful – especially knowing she was planning on killing him regardless. It would serve no purpose for him to die an adulterer, even if Jean would never know. However, he also needed to buy more time, to give Charles a chance to locate him with Cerebro and formulate an escape plan of his own. Even if the odds for success were decidedly against him, he had to try – and at least that way he'd go out fighting. It would be a lot more dignified, and his pride wouldn't allow him to be summarily executed – like a lamb being led to its slaughter. But if he miraculously survived, would Jean understand and forgive him for his stall tactics? More importantly, would he be able to forgive himself?

Scott knew he didn't have the luxury of debating the issue much longer before his captor's patience ran out and she put a bullet through his brain. His natural instinct to survive was enough to override his sense of honor so he reached over and ripped the flimsy thong right off of her. He grabbed her roughly and started to push her down onto the floor.

"Not here. The bed."

Scott merely shrugged and carried her over to the bed where he unceremoniously dumped her down. If he had to do this, it would be no seduction.

"Wait!" she ordered as he moved over her.

She leaned over, reached into the nightstand and retrieved a small foil packet.

"Put this on, I don't know where you've been," she said as she handed him the condom.

He ripped open the package, removed the latex disc, tossed the wrapper on the floor and then rolled the condom on smoothly.

"So, are you gonna finally tell me your name?" he asked as he nudged her legs apart.

"Why's it so important to you?"

"Because you're gonna be screaming my name when you come and I wanna be able to reciprocate."

She smiled at that.

"It's Yuriko."


End file.
